


Day 9: Nutcracker ft. GerIta

by Pippiuscattius



Series: Pippi's Holiday Shipping Challenge: Take Two [9]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Awkward Germany (Hetalia), Awkward Kissing, Canon events mentioned, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas traditions, Dinner Date, Family Dinners, German Folklore - Freeform, Historical References, Holiday Shipping Challenge, I'm honestly with Italy on this one, M/M, Making Dinner, Nutcracker, Nutcrackers are freakin spooky, Scared Italy (Hetalia), Visiting, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippiuscattius/pseuds/Pippiuscattius
Summary: Italy is staying over at Germany's place, which is all well and good...except that Italy is absolutely terrified of the nutcracker Germany insists on keeping up on the mantle. In a bid to make this visit as enjoyable as possible for both himself and his guest, Germany does whatever he can to keep Italy distracted.(This is part of a collection of silly, rushed drabbles for me to get into the holiday spirit. Make of them what you will, and happy holidays!)
Relationships: Germany/North Italy (Hetalia)
Series: Pippi's Holiday Shipping Challenge: Take Two [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569934
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	Day 9: Nutcracker ft. GerIta

During the Christmas season, Germany had his work cut out for him. So did most of the countries, to be fair, but on top of all the other traditions and celebrations, Germany had Italy to look after.

The Italian nation was slated to stay with Germany for a while, which was nothing out of the ordinary; the two were longtime friends and allies, after all, and often had business to attend to in each other’s respective countries. With Christmas on the horizon, though, Italy had been even more active and jolly than usual, puttering around Germany’s house and commenting on every last decoration in sight.

Germany tried not to go overboard with the holiday décor, he really did, but he admittedly possessed a soft spot for Christmas. A tree draped with shiny, metallic ornaments and miniature banners of the German flag stood in the corner, and on the mantel above the fireplace stood a tall and proud nutcracker doll.

That doll would prove to be the simultaneous source of Germany’s greatest frustration and greatest satisfaction for the duration of Italy’s visit. It was an antique, handmade among the earliest nineteenth century nutcrackers in German history. This one wore a faded green overcoat adorned with big red buttons. Two large, emotionless eyes and a clenched jaw of teeth were painted on its face, giving it a menacing but, in Germany’s opinion, historically charming look.

Italy did not agree with that sentiment, however. Upon waltzing through the door of Germany’s home, he locked eyes with the nutcracker and wailed in fear.

“Germany, what _is_ that?” Italy demanded, cowering behind the other nation’s back.

“A nutcracker,” Germany replied, bemusedly peering to look at his companion. “You know, ein Nussknacker. They’re very important in German folklore.”

“It looks like it’s going to attack us!” Italy insisted, peeking past his hiding spot only to retreat at the first sight of the wooden doll.

“I can assure you, it won’t, Italy.” Sighing, Germany guided his guest further into the house. He contemplated taking down the doll, or at least displaying it somewhere Italy would be less likely to encounter it, but it was such a longstanding tradition that he could hardly bear to compromise it. Besides, Italy would probably forget all about it by the next day.

It turned out Italy did _not_ forget about the nutcracker. If anything, he became hyperaware of it, hesitating before entering the living room and darting through whenever he couldn’t avoid it. He whimpered whenever he so much as caught a glance at it, keeping his utmost distance from the doll.

Surely it wasn’t _that_ scary, Germany reasoned. Then again, he was used to the admittedly intimidating faces of nutcrackers, and this was Italy he was talking about…

Hoping to lighten his friend’s mood, Germany enlisted his help in making dinner that night. Italy, predictably, lobbied for making any/every kind of pasta, and he and Germany eventually reached a compromise and set out to make a heaping bowl of spätzle. Italy’s help proved invaluable—he _was_ the world’s leading expert on pasta making—and his enthusiasm brought a rarely seen light to Germany’s kitchen.

Italy hummed and sang a wordless tune under his breath as he worked, twirling and dancing from counter to counter. A radiant, careless smile brightened his features, and his signature hair curl bounced as he moved. Belatedly, Germany realized he was singing a strange, meandering hybrid of several Christmas songs packed together into one Italian megamix. Had they been out on the battlefield or in the middle of training, Germany would have berated Italy, but those were the olden days. Nowadays, in peaceful, domestic settings like this, Germany saw no reason to encroach on Italy’s spirit.

And it was rather domestic, really. By the time their meal was done and their plates were set, it looked almost like…well, a date. Germany tried not to think about that, recalling the unresolved and unaddressed embarrassment from the Valentine’s Day fiasco, and sat down at his end of the table.

All seemed well until Italy plopped right into his own chair. He grabbed and held his fork high in anticipation, mouth nearly drooling as he honed in on his plate…and then his narrow eyes happened to peer past his tablemate and towards that daunting nutcracker across the way.

Dropping his fork with a clatter, Italy yelped and drew his hands against his chest. Germany jerked with a start at the sudden noise, eyeing his friend with concern.

“G-Germany,” Italy whimpered, sinking down in his chair. “The scary nutcracker is behind you…”

The wooden doll was indeed right behind Germany, at least from Italy’s line of sight. Frowning, Germany straightened out his posture to block the offending figure from view. “There, is that better?”

“A little,” Italy admitted, fidgeting in his seat. “But I know it’s still back there.”

Learned frustration rattled in Germany’s chest, but he forced it down with an equally learned patience. _You have faced two literal world wars, the black death, and every last one of Napoleon’s shenanigans, yet **this** still rattles you?_

Right. He had to remind himself, this was still _Italy_ he was talking about.

“What is so scary about it, anyway?” Germany settled on asking, picking out pieces of German pasta from his plate.

“Its face,” Italy said. “It’s so, so menacing…it reminds me of the scary faces you used to make back when I was your war prisoner.”

Any lingering guilt Germany had harbored about his actions towards Italy in the first world war had been mostly put to rest. Still, the reminder made some protective instinct twitch to life within him.

“Actually…” Germany softened his tone. “The reason they make nutcrackers with such frightening faces is so they can protect a home’s inhabitants. It’s meant to scare off evil spirits and forces. So, think of it this way…the nutcracker is making that face to protect you, ja?”

Slowly, Italy’s hunched frame unraveled into a more relaxed pose. With immense trepidation, he leaned over the table just enough to glimpse the nutcracker. He shook his head and fell back into his seat. “But…why would I need a scary doll-man to protect me when I have you?”

Germany might’ve choked on his food if he hadn’t been bracing himself for another fearful outburst from his tablemate. Instead, he felt heat rising to his cheeks. Would he ever get used to Italy’s random bursts of affection and sentiment?

“…Ja, sure you do,” Germany confirmed, averting his eyes and chewing a mouthful of spätzle.

Even with Germany’s reassurances, Italy’s hand remained trembling atop the table. Still feeling at fault for the whole situation, Germany gathered his courage and took Italy’s hand into his own. It stilled almost immediately, a light heat rising to Italy’s cheeks.

Taking that as a good sign, Germany dared to push a little further. He brought Italy’s hand towards his face and planted a couple of simple kisses to his knuckles. All he’d hoped for was to calm Italy down, but it seemed to have the opposite effect—in a good way, thankfully.

The remainder of dinner, Italy didn’t even mention the nutcracker once. He was much too ecstatic to be holding Germany’s hand, never letting go for a moment. Germany allowed it, as he found a comfort in the constant, warm pressure against his palm. Annoying as he could sometimes be, Italy held a very, very special place in Germany’s heart.

Over the course of the meal, Germany dared to kiss Italy’s hand a few more times. Italy eventually caught on and began returning the gesture, laughing and blushing joyfully each and every time. All the while, that fateful nutcracker watched over the two of them, a guardian of their shared home and bond.

_Thus ends the ninth day of Christmas._

**Author's Note:**

> Tfw you randomly decide to pair GerIta and the prompt "nutcracker" only to find out through research that nutcrackers have a long history that started in Germany: *surprised Pikachu face*


End file.
